


In a Room of Mirrors

by reveriemystique



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, trigger warning: character suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reveriemystique/pseuds/reveriemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John feels like nothing makes sense, like he's in a dream. The only thing he knows for sure is he loves Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Room of Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters or their origin, I only own this story.

\--

_"Goodbye, John."_   


_"Sherlock!"_

_I take off running towards the place my madman is falling. I feel like a dream, like I'm in a haze, like none of it is real, and yet terribly so. I vaguely acknowledge crashing to the ground, getting back up, and that's when I see his body. It isn't Sherlock, not the Sherlock I knew. Blood matts his hair to his face and his eyes are cold, distant. Everyone's crowding us and interfering, getting in the way, keeping me from him. They stab like knives into my senses, blocking my only way to him. I just need--Sherlock, I need--touch him, I have to know, can't be dead, can't be dead, can't be...Sherlock..._

_Sherlock..._

+

Mirror, I am in a room of mirrors. Vision, hazy, something is off. Perhaps I'm dreaming again. Something pokes at my consciousness, begging, "remember me, remember me" but I don't know where I am. I look at my reflection and I'm dressed in white. Flash. Flicker. A suit. Blood. I blink, what's happening... In the mirror, John Watson smiles at me. But that's not my smile... something about it is wrong, something evil, fake, that's not me. Flash. Flicker. A suit. Blood. Eyes, big, brown eyes, stare at me. They are innocent, pleading. Flash. Flicker. My reflection, John Hamish Watson, my reflection, stares at me. My mind is muddled with confusion. I blink. What is happening?

Flash. Flicker.

+

_"Afghanistan or Iraq?"_

_"Sorry?"_

_"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"_

_We've only just met, when did anyone have the time to tell him I was in the war?_

_I pause, unsure how to respond. Then he's running for me._

_"Alright, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" Sherlock says, shouts really, and something about his voice is very off. Urgent, worried._

_"Yeah yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine, Sherlock...Sherlock!" He wrestles the bombs away from me, finally, throws them across the way, both of us out of breath and shaken. Hiding it well, but we both have to be shaken. "Woah..." I sit down to breathe, I need to breathe, it's too much, all too much, Sherlock, I had to do that to him, dance in front of him adorned with bombs, Sherlock, we almost died, Sherlock... "Are you okay?" Then he's looking down for me._

_"It's a trick, it's just a magic trick."_

_"Sherlock!"_

+

_I was so alone, and I owe you so much._

_Just one more miracle, for me, just... don't be...dead._

+

I gasp as I'm shocked from sleep, I bolt upright. I try to catch my breath, I look around, it's dark, I'm alone. I'm in my bedroom at 221b, but outside, I see it's not Baker Street. I don't know where I am. I blink and I see the letters "IOU." What is that supposed to mean to me? A flash of red, the letters are gone. I breathe, heavily, I think, where am I? "...Sherlock?" I whisper to the darkness.

"Don't make people into heroes, John."

"Sherlock?" The room is dark, but as far as I can see there is no one accompanying me.

"Heroes don't exist,"

"Sherlock, don't--don't do this--"

"And if they did I wouldn't be one of them."

_Just one more miracle..._

"Sherlock..."

"I've disappointed you."

_Just don't. be. dead._

+

_My fingers graze his wrist, it's warm as if he were still alive. But I feel no heartbeat from it. Sherlock, you said your heart beats for me. Sherlock, did your heart stop beating?_

_Peoples' voices buzz in my ear, I don't pay attention. They sound menacing, evil, trying to tell me that he's gone. They try to distract me, they hand me a book. I throw it down. My head aches, my vision unsteady. Sherlock looks at me, his cold, dead eyes, they look at me, and he whispers, "Richard Brook." His face distorts then, and it's not Sherlock. "Moriarty," he whispers. "John."_

_Sherlock?_

_"Wake up."_

+

The headstone only reads "SHERLOCK HOLMES"

_The name's Sherlock Holmes,_

No "Devoted Consulting Detective, Beloved friend."

_And the address is 221b Baker Street._

No "His life and work will be remembered."

"Sherlock..." I say, and the voice isn't mine. I drop to my knees, kneeling to the ground in front of it, in front of him.

"I was so alone..."

_John._

"And I owe you so much."

_It's a trick._

I blink, my head spins, and the gravestone reads "JOHN WATSON"

No "Doctor, Afghanistan veteran." No "Forever in our hearts." Shouldn't I be remembered?Sherlock would remember me.

I blink. The headstone again reads "SHERLOCK HOLMES"

"Sh-Sherlock," I realise the grass is staining at my knees, and see I'm wearing trousers. "I--Sherlock..."

_It's just a magic trick._

+

It begins and ends with a gun.

I hear a bang. "Sherlock!" That's me shooting a man. "I'm not Sherlock Holmes," and that's me fighting for him. "Sherlock, run!" That's me tackling the world's only consulting criminal for him. Willing to sacrifice myself for him, again, and again, and again. I hear a bang. That's Sherlock shooting my gun at our wall. I blink, now that's me with Irene Adler. _"Look at us both,"_ she says. What's that mean? _"Look at us both."_ That's me with something burning hot in my stomach, telling me, _get rid of her, get rid of her, you'll only hurt him._ Now that's me hiding, fearful, praying _Sherlock, save me._ I see us laughing, I see him crying. I see him yelling, I see us running. _Sherlock._ I see us, together, at 221b. I see him falling. And I don't remember much after that.

I hear a bang. Then everything goes black.

+

_"John..."_

_"Sherlock?"_

_We're in the mirror room again. I see a dozen Sherlocks. But I don't see any of me. Sherlock takes a step towards me, his hands reach out to me. He caresses my cheek with one hand, interlaces our fingers with the other._

_"John, it's time."_

_"Sherlock, I miss you so much."_

_"I know."_

  
_"Sherlock--you have to--you have to come_ back. _You have to come back to me, I need you, we--we all need you--"_  


_"No, John. John..." He looks to the floor. He takes a careful step, closing any remaining space between us. Slowly, he leans in, pressing our lips together so softly, as though one or both of us could break at any moment. Then our foreheads press together, and once more, he whispers. "It's time."_

_"I love you, Sherlock." I begin to whisper too, because suddenly, everything seems so fragile. Like any mirror might crack and shower us with shards of broken glass._

_He merely looks up at me, his beautiful eyes piercing mine, and the world begins to turn to black. "No, Sherlock, no. Sherlock? Sherlock?" because I can't lose him, not again, I can't do it. No, no, Sherlock? I can't do it again, Sherlock..._

_And then the whole world fades away._

+

Slowly, I open my eyes. It's hard to see, my vision unclear. I see white. I hear, "Oh my god...are you--oh my god!" a girl is frantic. Out of the corner of my eye I see her put something on a table and get up from what I'd guess to be a chair. "Doctor!" She calls. She runs to edge of my sight. "Sher-Sherlock..." I try to speak, but it comes out as some kind of muffled cough. 

"Doctor, he's awake!" _What's happening?_ The girl walks back over to me, seeming tentative. I try to move, but my limbs feel like bags of sand. "Sir, don't--don't strain yourself. Just calm down, lay down, it's alright." Her hands hover over me, as if she were unsure what to do with them. I follow her orders, because it's about all I can do. I look up at her, hoping my eyes communicate all the questions I need to ask, but my body doesn't seem to want me to share. _What am I doing here? Where is Sherlock?_ "Do you know where you are?" She asks softly. "Hospital?" I respond hoarsely. She nods. "Do you know your name?"

"My name, my name is Jo--"

"My god, he _is_ awake." A new voice accompanies us. The girl smiles at the man, who must be a doctor. He walks over to my bedside, looks down at me.

"What happened to me?" I try to whisper, it hurts too much to speak. My lips are dry, my throat is dry, my mouth tastes terrible. My vision begins to clear, and I see the girl, I assume a nurse, and the doctor exchange a glance. 

"You don't remember?" She asks, and I shake my head. She looks back at the doctor, and I think I catch him give a soft nod. The nurse takes my hand, slowly leans over me. In a soothing voice, she tells me.

"Love, you tried to kill yourself."

"I...oh." I try to take this in. I'd want to be with Sherlock. I want to be with Sherlock. Why aren't I with Sherlock?

"Sir..." She starts to speak again. This time, she seems even more unwilling to utter the words I guess she knows she must. "Sir, you've been in a coma for almost a year now."

After a moment, I think my breathing speeds up, I think my eyes widen. Because no, no, that can't be right. That's not right at all. Just yesterday, I was in 221b. In fact, that's the last thing I remember. _Kill myself?_ No, no, that can't be right. The last thing I remember, the last thing--

"Sir, you're in Saint Bartholomew's hospital, in London, England. Can you tell us...can you tell us the year?

"Two-thousand...two-thousand..." I try to speak, it hurts still.

"Hush love, it's okay." She seems torn. She looks down, not in my eyes. "Can you tell us your name?"

"J-John Watson." 

The nurse's eyes widen, they seem brighter. She giggles. "John Watson! You remember! You remember!"

"Of course I..."

She steps away for a moment, comes back with the object she had set down. "Sherlock Holmes," she smiles. She holds up what seems to be a book. I think I hear my heart monitor speed up at the sound of his name.

"Sherlock..."

"Yes," she smiles. "I...I read this to you everyday. Sherlock Holmes? I just love these books, Sherlock seems like such a wonderful detective, and friend, and... sir?"

I look away from her, I can't look at her. What is she _talking_ about? Someone wrote a book about Sherlock?

"No, no. My name is John Watson," I say hoarsely, my voice cracking, I barely recognise myself. "Sherlock is my--my friend--"

"Sir, no." Her ebullience seems toned down. "Your name is Richard Brook." She grabs a clipboard, probably my chart. _Richard Brook?_ No, she must be mistaken.What--what...

She's looking at my chart. "Your name is Richard Brook, you, you were born October 21, 1976, you... You have no extended family." She looks up at me. "No relationship, no contacts...you're alone."

"That's quite enough Molly. You're going to overwhelm him." The doctor steps in front of her, toward me. I _have_ to be dreaming. There's no world where this could be plausible. None. "You have a history of psychological damage, depression. About a year ago, you attempted suicide, but failed. You've been comatose ever since. I realise, this must be a lot to take in... How are you feeling, Mr. Brook?" 

I don't know what to do, what to say. Why would they tell me this? This isn't funny, this...this isn't a funny joke. It's a joke, right? I feel like I'm hyperventilating. "Mirror," I manage to say.

"Yes, yes of course," the nurse says, walking away for a moment before returning with a hand mirror. Her hand shakes as she passes it to me. So do mine as I look at the reflection. And I don't see John Watson, I don't see... anything good. I see James Moriarty. "M-moriarty?" His mouth moves as mine does, his eyes widen as mine do. I can no longer contain myself. "No, no! This isn't real, this can't be real!" I sit up frantically, to the best of my ability, shaking, and throw the handmirror across the room."Sir, sir calm down!" The doctor says as the mirror hits the wall and shatters, falling to the floor. This, this isn't real, it's not happening, no, this is a _dream_ , it has to be!

The doctor shouts something else, and suddenly more people rush in. They inject something in my arm, then my IV. "No, no, you have to understand, my name is John Hamish Watson, I live at 221b Baker Street, I'm Sherlock Holmes' friend, his..." The room begins to turn grey. Everything moves in slow motion. "His best friend..." I close my eyes, I see Sherlock. He smiles at me.

_It's all a trick. Just a magic trick._

+

My mind gives me a small sliver of consciousness. I hear voices, faint, far away.

"I believe he created a world in which he...he wasn't himself. He didn't have to be alone, he could be...a hero. I wouldn't be surprised he based it off the _Sherlock Holmes_ stories. His subconscious would've picked up the idea from being read the book, and subsequently he had a sort of floorplan for his made-up world." 

"What about the 'Moriarty' part?"

"He reacted the most once he saw his own face, his own image. So, I would imagine, he'd created a visual resemblance of himself in his world. He made his real identity the villain, while he got to live as a hero and theoretically...defeat himself."

"Oh, poor doll..."

"It'll take him a while to adjust. We should keep him here for a while, to run tests, and make sure he doesn't...try anything."

"Yes doctor."

+

In my dreams, I am with Sherlock again. But at the end of every dream, he fades into the background. I see him tonight, in the corner of my eye, he watches over me. My skin prickles at the cold air, and my feet freeze against a hard ground. But I keep walking, I keep smiling, knowing I'll be with Sherlock. That's all I want, to be with Sherlock. And I don't care what they say. Sherlock is real, and he...he loves me.

_I don't have friends. I've just got one._

"Sherlock?" I ask for him, and the wind answers me. The world below comforts me. They know it'll be okay. So I do as he did, just as he did, I spread my arms like an angel, and let myself fall. Then suddenly I'm flying, flying through the air, to be an angel forever with Sherlock.

_Sherlock..._

And everything goes black.

  
+end+  


  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [frankie](http://adaisyifyoudo.tumblr.com) for betaing!  
> 


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